Open Bar Will Get You Street Cred

When GOOD magazine emailed me an invite to their annual anniversary party, I knew I was in for an eventful evening. Every year they throw a party at some random venue in Los Angeles. Subscribers get in for free ($20 for a year and 100% of the money goes to a charity of your choice... not bad!), drinks cost nothing, and there are plenty of attractive Los Angelites to observe.

This year's event happened to be at the Natural History Museum. An absolutely great place to have a party of this magnitude. I arrived with our usual entourage early enough and immediately B-line it to the open bar. Skyy Vodka. For free. I didn't complain. I was going to milk this bad boy for all it was worth.

It's a unique experience; throwing back vodka sodas while standing next to the remains of a giant mastodon. The party was very much what I expected and as Leo leaned over and whispered, "There are so many pretty girls here, yet for some reason... you feel like they are completely out of your league." I nodded in agreement as I took another long sip from my drink. Plenty of girls wearing their best cocktail attire (little black dresses, oh snaaaaaaaaaps).

But as the night wore on, the free drinks started to add up in my 5'3" frame and pretty soon I was convinced that mastodon was staring me down. And with each drink, I started to get a little more reflective (uh oh). At some point, I got separated from the herd and I suddenly had an epiphany. I'm going to walk home. I didn't bid my friends farewell, I just left.

As I stumbled down the stairs of the Natural History Museum, the dark clouds that had been forming all night started to rumble. I began my trek home at 12:00 in the morning. I usually pull out my cellphone immediately, but I think I wanted to just enjoy the silence for a moment. I'm not really sure why I decided to do this; maybe the thought of "our" supposed one-year anniversary is coming up in a few days. One year since the break up, seven years if we were still dating.

I didn't want to dwell on that for the entire walk, besides my head was spinning. I refused to go emo. So I forced myself to pull out my cell phone and make some calls to occupy my thoughts. These drunk dials didn't last very long, either no one was picking up their phones or they couldn't hear me because my cell was malfunctioning. The light sprinkle was now a full blown monsoon. I was absolutely drenched. Gel from my hair was running off my forehead and now causing a bitter taste in my mouth. I wore nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt, which I had to ring out every 5 mins. Puddles formed on the street corners that were at LEAST ankle-deep that were impossible to walk around. It was a pretty pathetic scene.

During the last third of my journey, I thought it was best to try and flag down a cab. I only saw one, but he must have not seen my arms flailing. I'm not surprised he didn't stop, I must have looked insane to be outside in the middle of the night during an LA rainstorm in gang territory. Oh, did I not mention that? I was walking in the stomping grounds of the Blood, Black P Stones, the Rollin 60's Crips, and the 18th Street Gang. I figured I was "ok" though; even gang bangers know better than to be outside in this weather. Besides, I was wearing neutral gang colors. I continued the rest of the pilgrimage switching off between walking and jogging.

An hour later, my hands were shaking due to me freezing my ass off as I tried to align my door keys with the key hole. I peeled off my waterlogged t-shirt and jeans, kicked off my soggy Chuck's and hopped in the shower.

Not one of the smartest things I've done while drunk.


Sidenote: I google-mapped my walk. 3 miles.